A Real Cowboy. Sarah M. Anderson

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СКАЧАТЬ hit him with the spoon again, which caused Thalia to stifle a giggle. Her eyes still laughed, though.

      Not that J.R. was staring or anything.

      Then those eyes—a clear, deep blue—shifted to him, and she held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, J.R.”

      He couldn’t do anything but stare at her. She wasn’t going to insist on calling him James Robert? Just like that?

      Minnie cleared her throat and shot him a dangerous glare. Right. Acknowledging that she’d spoken to him was probably the nice, polite thing to do. “Likewise, Thalia.” Against his better judgment, he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Heat flowed between them. Probably because she’d warmed up in front of the fire. Yeah, that was it.

      That small, curved smile danced over her nice lips and was then gone. “Dinner smells wonderful, Minnie. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

      There was the flattery, and boy, was it working on Minnie. She blushed and grinned and shooed all of them to the table, saying, “Sit by me, dear, so we can talk.”

      Of course, sitting by Minnie also turned out to be sitting by J.R., as Thalia was on the corner between him and Minnie. His thoughts immediately turned to the patterned tights under the table—and their close proximity to his own legs—way more than they should have. Man, he was hard up.

      How the hell was he going to make it through dinner?

      Three

      “So, tell us about yourself,” Minnie said to Thalia as she passed a basket of piping hot corn muffins around the table.

      J.R. waited. Everyone waited, including Hoss, which was saying something. Hoss wasn’t seriously trying to make a move on this woman, was he? In front of his own mother? Ugh. This whole thing couldn’t be more awkward, J.R. decided.

      “I’m an associate producer.” J.R. couldn’t help but notice she looked at Hoss and Minnie—but not at him. “I work for Bob Levinson at Halcyon Pictures.”

      “He’s an ass.” The moment the words left his mouth, Minnie looked like she would smack him upside the head with the spoon—if only their “visitor” wasn’t sitting in between the two of them. “Pardon my language.”

      One of those quick, nervous smiles darted over Thalia’s face. But she still didn’t quite meet his eyes. The closest she got was more in the region of his shoulder. What the hell kind of new negotiating tactic was this—ignore the person you were trying to ensnare? “It’s true he has a certain reputation.”

      A certain reputation? J.R. had had the intense displeasure of working on two Levinson movies—Colors That Run and The Cherry Trees—and both had been sheer torture tests. On his good days, Levinson had been demeaning and derogatory. On his worst days, he had inspired J.R. to envision creative ways to off the man. He couldn’t imagine Levinson had mellowed with age. His kind never did. They just got more and more caustic, leaving nothing but scorched earth behind them.

      And, in Levinson’s case, a growing list of Oscar winners. He was an ass, all right, but because he delivered the box office returns and the shiny little gold men, everyone in Hollywood gave him a free pass. Except J.R., who wasn’t in Hollywood anymore.

      And this Thalia—who looked soft and could pull off innocent—worked directly for him. In so many ways, she was not trustworthy.

      “Are you famous?” Hoss asked.

      J.R. shot Hoss a dirty look, which earned him a grin that bordered on predatory. Did Hoss think he had a shot? Hell, no.

      Thalia’s laugh was small but polite. “Only to my mother. Every time one of my movies comes to Norman, Oklahoma, she rounds up a bunch of friends.” Hints of color graced her cheeks, but she showed no other sign of being embarrassed by this. “They sit through the credits and when my name rolls by, they all stand and cheer. And I’m famous for a whole three minutes.”

      “So you’re not originally from California?” Minnie’s eyes were bright and her smile was huge. She was having fun, J.R. realized. That made him feel better. Not much, but a little.

      “No, I’ve only been there for about ten years.”

      “What does an associate producer do?” Hoss was nailing nice and polite right out of the gate, which only made J.R. look worse. When Hoss was rewarded with a nice smile, J.R. had to fight the urge to kick him under the table. Hoss was not her type. True, J.R. didn’t know exactly what her type was, but Hoss was a decent, honest, hardworking fellow, even if he was a bit of a joker. In other words, he was the kind of man that women like Thalia Thorne probably ate for breakfast.

      “A little bit of everything. I scout locations, arrange funding and hire talent.” She managed to say that entire line without looking at J.R. The amount of effort she put into not looking at him broadcast that she knew he was here, loud and clear.

      “I was in a movie once.” J.R. fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Me and Minnie, we were extra Native Americans in Hell for Leather.” Hoss shook his head in mock sadness. “First, I got killed, then they cut my part. That’s why I gave up Hollywood and stuck to ranching, you know.”

      What a load of crap. Mostly true crap—everything except that last line, which J.R. took as a personal attack. He was about to punch Hoss in the arm when Thalia giggled. “Is that so? Fame can be fickle like that.”

      “Sure can.” Hoss shot him a look that said one thing, and one thing only—I’m winning. “Were you always a producer?”

      “Not originally. I wanted to be an actress.” Thalia’s voice got that soft quality again. “I came close—I had a three-episode arc on Alias—that girl-next-door-superspy show.” Then her eyes brightened and she gave Hoss a grin that said she was in on the joke. “I got killed, too. It’s murder on one’s career to be dying all the time.”

      A former actress? Another strike against her—or it should have been. The way she’d said it felt like she’d plucked a single string somewhere inside J.R. and that string hummed in recognition.

      So what? Hollywood was the land of broken dreams. He would not be swayed by a calculated play on his sympathies. “Do you know that Jennifer Garner?” When Thalia nodded, Minnie’s eyes lit up. “I always wondered if she was a nice person or if she’d kill you.”

      “She’s normal—but the baby showers! You should have seen the gifts!” As Thalia revealed all sorts of firsthand details and Minnie ate it up, J.R. noticed that everything she said was warm and friendly. Nothing malicious passed her lips.

      Not that he was thinking about her lips. That wasn’t it at all.

      No, he was thinking Minnie’s sixth sense might be right—Thalia Thorne didn’t act like someone who’d come digging for dirt. But she’d come for something. What was the question. He knew it was only a matter of time before she got around to it.

      She didn’t seem in a hurry, though. Instead, she ate and talked like they were all the oldest of friends while Minnie passed around the pot roast and the potatoes. They were J.R.’s favorite kind, smashed red potatoes with rosemary and garlic, but tonight, nothing tasted good. To him, anyway. Thalia sat there oohing and aahing over everything, and Minnie СКАЧАТЬ